Little One
by elentari angel
Summary: Frodo Baggins had always been rather different by hobbit standards... A little fic looking at the circumstances of the birth of the Ringbearer. Rating just to be safe. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**_Little One_**

****

_Frodo Baggins has always been rather slim and pale by hobbit standards… A little fic considering a possibility on why this is so, and why Frodo never had any other siblings._

_Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to me. All characters, places and names are mine. Or so I wish… ;)_

**Chapter 1**

It was late September in the year 1368 by the Shire Reckoning, and the atmosphere in Brandy Hall could not have been more pleasant.

The harvesting season had begun, and to celebrate, several relations of the Master and his family had been invited to the Hall. Several Tooks, a handful of Bagginses and some Bolgers and Boffins had been arriving over the course of a week, and now everyone was here. Even old Bilbo Baggins had made the trip, deciding to forgo his usual birthday celebration in Hobbiton in favour of the East Farthing. It would, after all, provide an opportune excuse to not have to invite the dreaded Sackville-Bagginses over for anything.

Of course, there were other reasons why so many were making the trip to Brandy Hall. Drogo and Primula Baggins were making their last trip to the Hall for what would probably be a very long time. Primula was almost eight months pregnant with her first child and would not have the time or energy to visit any of her relatives soon. So she had taken advantage of this opportunity to see as many as she could at one time (though her husband had put up a very convincing fight for them to remain at home), and found that she thoroughly enjoyed herself. Though the trip did prove to bring many surprises her way…

* * *

A gentle smile graced the glowing features of Primula as she sat listening to the teasing argument that had arisen between her two elder sisters, Amaranth and Asphodel. She, Esmeralda Took and Eglantine Took exchanged amused smiles. No doubt this argument would escalate into a full on war of words between the two sisters before long.

"Perhaps we should go and see what the men are up to?" suggested Esmeralda. Primula gave a light laugh.

"You just want to charm my nephew even more than you already have done!" she accused with a mischievous sparkle in her bright blue eyes. Esmeralda took on a decidedly sheepish expression as the colour rose on her face. Eglantine and Primula exchanged knowing looks before bursting out laughing. Amaranth and Asphodel looked up from their argument.

"What's so funny?" asked Asphodel rather indignantly, as though daring someone to admit they had been gossiping about her behind her back.

"_Nothing_!" said Esmeralda at once.

"Oh Essie," said Eglantine. "You might as well give in now. It's obvious that as soon as Saradoc comes of age you two are going to get married." Esmeralda's blush intensified so that she looked as though she had fallen headfirst into an enormous tub of scarlet dye.

"Oh yes," agreed Amaranth with a wicked grin. "Before you know it there'll be a little Saradoc or Essie running around the hall, trailing after a little Primula. I can see it now."

"I wish you would stop going on about how the baby will be a girl," said Primula with a small frown. "We won't find out for sure until it's born." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the baby in question gave a rather hard kick inside her womb, as if agreeing with its mother. Primula's frown deepened. This was the third hard kick in the last hour. Amaranth sighed.

"I'm telling you, it's going to be a girl," she said adamantly. "I can sense these sorts of things."

"Oh yes," said Asphodel with a roll of her eyes. "Just like you predicted that my Milo was going to be twin girls – and you know how impossibly rare twins are!" She paused as everyone (besides a fuming Amaranth) started laughing again. "And let's not forget when Amma also predicted that Daisy Baggins would be a boy."

"You're also forgetting Ponto, Porto _and_ Peony Baggins," provided Primula. "She thought they would be two girls and a boy." Esmeralda and Eglantine started giggling helplessly. Primula started laughing as well, but winced and bit back a cry as she felt the hardest kick yet.

"How many children are you predicting Paladin and I will have again, Amma?" asked Eglantine. Amaranth only glared at the recently wed hobbit, her current fury overruling her ability to speak.

"So basically, Prim," said Asphodel, turning back to her younger sister. "I think it is very safe to say that you will be having a lad… Prim?"

Primula looked up, as if being drawn out of a daze. "What was that?" she asked slowly.

"Prim?" said Eglantine slowly. "Are you alright?"

"You've gone all pale," said Esmeralda. Primula tried to give a reassuring smile, though the others noticed how her arms were wrapped protectively around her belly.

"I'm fine," she said. "The baby's just getting a little over-excited about all this laughter, I think."

"Are you sure?" said Amaranth, finding her tongue at last. "Are you sure it's nothing more than that?"

"Oh no!" said Primula at once. "It couldn't be. The baby's not due for another five or so weeks yet."

"Then it must just be overexcited," concluded Eglantine. "How about we go and get some luncheon now? The food might settle the baby down." Primula nodded her agreement and allowed herself to be helped to her feet by her sisters, their argument completely forgotten for the time being.

* * *

As it was, the rest of the Hall seemed to agree that it was indeed time for the midday meal. The five women met many on their way to the enormous dining room, including their brothers, cousins, husbands and husbands-to-be. Upon seeing his wife's fair face, Drogo's own features broke into a warm smile and he lovingly wrapped an arm around Primula's shoulders.

"How is the little one?" asked Drogo. Primula smiled. Drogo was a rather typical hobbit – practical, sensible, a great lover of food, ale and pipeweed… But as soon as he had found out that he was to be a father, it was as though he had woken up from a long, deep sleep. He now often looked like an excited child on the eve of Yule, being close to bursting at the prospect of the gift of being a father. Primula could tell that their child was going to be in serious danger of becoming far too spoilt.

"Very restless," she said in answer to his question. "It has been kicking around all morning."

"Ah," said Drogo with a distant smile. "He is going to be a sack of perpetual energy when he is older."

"_She_," corrected Amaranth. Asphodel, Eglantine and Esmeralda worked hard to contain the laughter threatening to spill from their twitching lips. Drogo turned to Amaranth in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?" he questioned.

"Your child is going to be a 'she'," informed Amaranth factually. "I know it."

"I think it's going to be a 'he'," said Drogo with a shrug.

"Come now, Drogo," said Bilbo as he and Rory joined the group on their way to the dining room. "You know better than to argue with a lady on these sorts of matters."

"Normally I would agree with you, Bilbo," said Rory. "Women do tend to have a rather good instinct when it comes to children. However, considering that it is Amaranth who said it, I think an exception can be made."

At this, Asphodel, Eglantine and Esmeralda could no longer hold in their laughter. "See, Amma?" said Asphodel. "What did I tell you?" Amaranth muttered something under her breath that no one caught, and stalked off ahead of them to the dining hall.

"I still think it's going to be a boy," muttered Drogo with a gentle squeeze of his wife's shoulder. Primula smiled up at him, but the smile had vanished in a heartbeat as the worst pain yet shot through her body, pulsating from her womb. This time she could not stifle the cry that rose up in her throat. Her eyes clenched shut and she felt her knees buckle beneath her. She spared a fleeting moment to thank the Valar that her husband's arm was still wrapped around her shoulders, though now it was the only thing that supported her. Drogo quickly caught her before she fell too far.

"Prim?" His voice trembled as his fear was unveiled. For a moment Primula did not reply. But then her eyes cracked open and she stared up at her husband. He gazed into those blue orbs, willing them to tell him what her voice would not. What he saw sent a chill up his spine. Primula Brandybuck Baggins was one of the strongest hobbits he knew. And in her eyes was a deep-set fear that wrenched his heart.

"Drogo," she managed to choke. "I think the baby's coming."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**_Little One_**

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to LOTR. I am not making a profit out of this story._

**Chapter 2**

It took a moment for this statement to process in Drogo's mind. When comprehension finally dawned, he found that a cold weight had set up home in his stomach. He was dimly aware that the hallway had fallen silent and everyone was staring at he and his wife intently.

"But it's too soon!" he said, his voice taking on a much higher pitch than was its wont. "The baby's not due for another five weeks at the least!"

"_I know that_!"

"Prim, are you absolutely certain the baby's coming?" said Asphodel, her face gone almost as chalk white as her sister's.

"Of course I'm not certain!" snapped Primula, quickly losing patience. "I've never had a baby before, have I!"

"What in the Shire is going on here?" Every head in the hallway suddenly whipped around to the door of the enormous dining room where Menegilda stood, looking all-too daunting with her hands on her hips and a glare that could potentially cause any cow to give nothing but sour milk for the rest of its days. "Are you all going to wait for spring to come or are you going to eat now? Quickly! The food's getting cold!"

"Gilda, we seem to have a bit of a situation here," said Bilbo in a surprisingly calm voice. "It appears that Primula is having a baby now."

Menegilda's eyes instantly honed in on Primula and Drogo, the stony expression they had previously shown melting slightly into a look of thinly veiled worry. She bustled up to the couple, took a good look at Primula then snapped back into action.

"Right then!" she barked, formidable matriarch returning. "The rest of you go and eat. Someone run and fetch Mistress Iris and send her to the Master's Family Quarters. Asphodel, Esmeralda, you two help me here. _Amaranth_!" Everyone winced as the Mistress of Brandy Hall screeched for her eldest sister-in-law. Amaranth entered the hallway, looking more than slightly annoyed at being called from her meal. "Amaranth, could you send for some hot water and ice to be brought to Prim's old room? Eglantine, you run ahead and get as many towels as you can."

Everyone suddenly bustled into movement. Menegilda started to pry Drogo's arm from around Primula. He protectively and instinctively tightened his hold on his wife. "I'm not going anywhere," he said.

"Very well then," said Menegilda. "You can stay out here in the hallway and we'll go on to your wife's old room." Drogo scowled and opened his mouth to retaliate when Primula interrupted him.

"Go," she said to him, her voice almost pleading. "I'll be fine. I'm in capable hands here. You go and enjoy your lunch."

For a moment, Drogo hesitated. He could see the deep-set fear in his wife's sapphire eyes. She was terrified – and with every right. How could he possibly bring himself to leave her now? But then again, what did he know about childbirth? He would most likely get in the way, he reasoned. Besides, he knew that Primula _was_ in capable hands, and that none of these women would let her or the babe come to any harm if it could be helped. He sighed, and nodded, releasing her from his grip. He could not bring himself to argue against her this time. Drogo watched miserably as Primula was taken off to the large living quarters where the Master's family lived. They were the most spacious and comfortable rooms in the Hall. Primula had grown up in those rooms, and Drogo knew that she and their coming child would be happy enough there. With another dejected sigh, he turned and entered the dining room. He took a seat between Bilbo and Paladin Took, resigning himself to picking at the food on his plate.

"Don't worry," said Paladin kindly. "Primula will be fine. She's in more than capable hands."

"That's right," agreed Saradoc from his place opposite Bilbo. "Iris Clearwater is the best midwife in the Shire. She has delivered babes for longer than you've been alive, Cousin. And my mother surely knows what she's doing too. You have nothing to fear."

"I do not doubt that Prim is being well looked after," said Drogo slowly. "It's just that…" He sighed and frowned down at his plate, his voice matching his strained expression. "I don't pretend to know a lot about this sort of thing – but I do know that for a baby to be born five weeks premature is very early. I'm worried that something is wrong."

"Drogo," said Bilbo sincerely. "I've known Prim for as long as I've known you. And she is as stubborn as any Brandybuck, Took or even a Baggins. She is _not_ going to die today. That goes for your child too. Whether it's a lad or a lass, it has strong Baggins, Brandybuck and even Took blood lines in it – and more besides. You _know_ how stubborn we all are. If it's stubborn enough to demand to meet the world so soon, then it will be stubborn enough to want to stay around for a good while yet."

Drogo heeded his cousin's words and a small smile broke weakly onto his face. "I believe you're quite right, Bilbo," he said. Feeling at least a little better, he slowly devoured his meal.

* * *

As Iris Clearwater entered the large bedroom, she spared one moment to take in all that was going on before she took charge. 

"Right," she said briskly. "I suggest that someone opens a window, as it is getting rather stuffy in here. We do _want_ Mistress Baggins to breathe, after all." Esmeralda quickly moved to obey. "Plenty of towels out, I see, and enough water to be going by… Gilda would you happen to have any ice handy? Good! Perhaps you could send for some more in an hour or so. Now, Primula, how are we doing?"

Iris moved to the side of the large bed where Primula currently lay. She had been changed into a nightdress and her light brown locks had been loosely tied back from her face. But the few curls that had escaped the ribbon were limp with sweat, and her cheeks were flushed.

"Her water's broken," informed Amaranth. "But the contractions seem to be unusually irregular, though I think they're starting to come more closer together now. But I think we're all in for a very long day at any rate."

"I see," said Iris with a slight frown. She quickly examined Primula, last of all noting the size of her swollen belly. "When exactly are you due, dear?"

"In about five weeks at the least," said Primula. "By the first week of November certainly. Though by what the healer said last time I had a check-up, it could even be six or seven weeks yet."

Iris immediately frowned. Even five weeks premature was dangerously early for a hobbit babe to be born. Such occurrences only happened when there was something wrong with either the child or the mother. Or both…

"Tell me, dear," said Iris, fighting to keep her voice light and conversational, lest she distress the mother any more than she already was. "Have you had any serious illnesses or been in any bad accidents over the past couple of years?"

Primula paused to think, her mind whirling back through the past few years as she struggled to order her chaotic thoughts. "I had a miscarriage almost two years ago," she said in a hollow voice. "And… and a stillbirth two years before that."

"That explains a bit," muttered Iris, half to herself. She looked on Primula with sympathetic eyes. "You poor dear. How dreadful for you to go through all of that already. But don't worry about any of that now. Just you try and relax, my dear, while we take care of you."

* * *

It was several hours later when a fretful Drogo paced outside the confined rooms, his eyes darting worriedly to the door with every two steps he took. Night had fully settled in by now, and Brandy Hall was abuzz with excitement over the coming of the babe. Several of Drogo and Primula's friends and family sat around outside the rooms, also waiting out the hours along with the anxious almost-father. 

"Drogo, sit down," ordered Rory. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor if you carry on like that."

"I can't sit down," said Drogo as though this was the most obvious claim in all of Middle Earth. "I just can't. Not when I have no idea what's happening in there. It's been _hours_."

"These things take time," said Asphodel's husband, Rufus, wisely. "Elbereth knows that Milo took his time coming. Besides, I'm sure that someone would let you know if there was a problem."

Drogo sighed heavily, his eyes staring hard at the door, as if by willpower alone he could make it reveal to him what was going on in the rooms it dutifully concealed from view. He and the other menfolk had been left to wait out the hours in the spacious parlour of the Master's living Quarters. The parlour led to a large study, mostly used by Saradoc and Merimac these days, and the study led to several bedrooms which were used by the Master's immediate family. In one of those rooms was Primula – Primula and probably over half of Buckland's female population. Drogo hated the idea that he was not permitted to see his own wife during such a time while just about any woman – whether she was the Thain's mother, the youngest kitchen maid or even Primula's fourth cousin three times removed – gained almost instant entrance.

As though believing that a mere stare was far too good for such a door that was clearly so biased and unjust towards him, Drogo scowled at it, hoping that this added ferocity would aid him in his plight. When the door remained stubbornly shut and silent, Drogo at last capitulated and plonked himself on a seat next to his brother-in-law, Saradas.

"I hope you're right, Rufus," he muttered dejectedly.

* * *

Behind the doors, in the room she had kept from the day she was born until the day she had wedded, Primula was in the greatest agony she could ever have imagined. The midwife told her it had been some hours now, but she knew that it had been a year and a day at the very least. It must have been. It was simply inconceivable for her to know such torture over such a period of time as only a few meagre hours. 

Yet time continued to tick by, seconds into minutes, and minutes into hours and hours and hours uncounted. When all others bustled about, Asphodel remained by her bed, holding her hand and stroking the curls from her eyes with a cool cloth. A vague sensation of surprise penetrated Primula's mind; surprise that her sister's hand was still attached to the rest of her body. She knew that she had been gripping it senseless in her grasp of steel-clad pain. But dear Delly did not complain. She simply smiled with wan lips and spoke soft little words of nothingness that flitted as a fleeting presence of comfort in Primula's ears. "You did the same for me," she said. "All those years ago when my Milo was born." Primula could not recall the time that her sister spoke of. Yet she spared some of her mind to take a small comfort in the fact that for whatever reason, at least she was not going through this alone. She had the support of her family, and she knew she would be eternally grateful for it. But all the same…

"Why is this taking so long?" she groaned as another contraction stabbed through her body. Wave after wave of pain assaulted her, and she yearned to just lie back and give up. But she knew she could not face the failure such an action would bring. Brandybucks (and Bagginses, for that matter) were famed for being stubborn. They did not give up easily. She knew that she would continue this long suffering until it killed her, rather than give up when there was still some strength left to her. Though, she thought it rather unfortunate and unfair that the former option seemed most likely…

Even as she was pondering this train of thought, Iris regarded her with an unidentifiable look in her eyes, choosing to ignore the question stated seemingly an age ago. She could see that Primula was strong – there was no doubt about that. But it had been nigh on fifteen hours since her water had broken, and naturally, she was rapidly tiring. There just hadn't been enough change. Usually by now the mother-to-be would be coming to the end of the first stage and entering the second stage of the delivery. But Primula didn't seem to be even half way through the first stage. With a small frown creeping onto her features, Iris conducted another quick examination of her charge.

"I don't like this," she muttered. "Gilda," she more loudly. "Cover for me. I need to step out for a couple of minutes. Call out if you need me at once."

Menegilda nodded and assumed Iris's position while the midwife swiftly left the room, leaving the door ajar so she could hear if she was being called. She moved through the large study then through the door that would lead her into the parlour. By this time, most of the men had fallen asleep. Rufus was snoring loudly. Saradoc's eyelids kept drooping shut, only to be hurriedly opened when they went down too far. Bilbo and Rory were yawning hugely. Drogo had resumed his restless pacing.

But as Iris opened the door and walked onto this scene, those who were still awake looked up at her, suddenly alert and now all the more eager for news. Drogo stopped his pacing and gulped, finding that his mouth had suddenly gone dry. One look at Iris's expression told him that something was wrong. His face paled.

"Mr Baggins," said the midwife, her voice crisp and insinuating no nonsense. "If I could have a quick word with you?"

Drogo remained still for some moments before quickly nodding and joining Iris in a corner of the parlour. Paladin and Rufus snorted simultaneously and woke up, looking about themselves dazedly.

"What's wrong?" asked Drogo in a low voice.

"I'm afraid that some complications have arisen," said Iris in an equally soft voice. "Your wife is becoming more and more exhausted. I'm worried that she won't be able to go on and the baby will still not be delivered. Her blood pressure especially isn't good. The baby isn't coping as well as I'd like either."

Drogo's face took on a decidedly grey pallor. It seemed as though he would collapse at any given moment from sheer worry. Iris looked on him with pity. "What are you going to do?" he managed to ask.

"If it proves that Primula can no longer cope," said Iris, choosing her words carefully. "Then I will have to get the baby out of her – and quickly. It can be done; however, due to the manner in which such a procedure must occur, it will mean that only one of them can survive. I can't save both mother and child."

There was a heavy silence that weighed on the room like the thick accumulation of static that heralds the approach of a thunderstorm. Drogo's dark brown eyes, usually so warm and cheerful, were now cold and frighteningly expressionless as he felt his insides numbing terribly. He stared at the midwife, though Iris was not certain that he truly saw her. The very air in the room was utterly still, and it was as though Death had already come to claim his prize for the eve. Through the numbness, Drogo felt a cold weight settle in the deepest pit of his stomach. He swallowed once more, forcing his tongue to co-operate with his mind.

"What exactly are you saying?" he said at last, his words coming out so slowly as if it would ascertain his gain of understanding.

"I'm saying," said Iris, also speaking slowly and carefully. "That it is becoming increasingly more likely that either your wife or your child is going to die tonight. If it should come to this, then I'm afraid you will have to choose which life is to be saved. Drogo – you have one hour to decide. After that… I fear there might be no choice to make at all."

TBC

* * *

_Cheese Processor – I'm glad you're enjoying the story so much. I hope the long wait didn't put you off. ;)_

_Eregriel Gloswen – Not to fear! You will soon be finding out where all this is leading, if you haven't already, that is. Sorry about the wait in updating btw!_

_Iorhael – I hope this is still interesting enough for you. And don't worry – there's definitely more coming…_

_Kaewi - blushes Thank you for the lovely compliment! I'm glad you're liking the story. I really enjoyed and am still enjoying writing the various relationships between these particular hobbits. I completely agree with you that Drogo seems very much like a 'peacemaking' sort of hobbit, yet will still speak his mind._

_Nimrodel of Meneltarma – Sorry for not updating sooner! But I'm devoting more of my fanfic writing time to 'Every Man for Himself'. Not that I've actually had much writing time – school is intent on dictating my entire life. But there you go. I'll try and update ASAP though._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Little One**_

_Disclaimer: If I did own LOTR, chances are I wouldn't be writing fanfiction for it. So until order is restored to the universe and they realise that I am, in fact, the rightful owner, the characters, settings etc are not mine… nor am I making a profit out of this._

**Chapter 3**

Drogo Baggins knew that his life had ended.

As Iris swept back through the door to return to her duty, Drogo's senses swept away with her. He did not know if he moved at all, or if he perhaps remained frozen. He could not see. He could not hear. He could not taste or smell or feel. He was an empty shell, already beginning to rot with fear and grief and unforgiving despair.

And then he blinked. That simple automatic contraction and relaxation of muscles achieved what he thought had been impossible. Somehow, he was pulled back into the world of the living. He could see again, though everything was shadowed in a dark and threatening mist. And he knew. This was what he had feared ever since the stillbirth, since he and Primula had been told that the chances of Primula ever giving birth to a healthy child were so very slim. He had feared recurrence. When she had told him that she was pregnant once more, over two years ago now, he had never felt more petrified. His fears had been proven when, barely a month later, Primula had fallen to the ground while they had been out in their garden, blood soaking her lavender skirts.

It had happened again. He had thought their luck had left them, along with their second child. It had been late March when Primula had come to him, telling him of her suspicions that she was once more with child. For some time he had lived in constant fear. Then the first trimester had passed, and they had been told that the baby seemed to be developing just fine. He had been jubilant. The thought that _this time_ they might actually become parents…

And now here he was, in late September, noting dimly how time was bringing him ever closer to the moment when he would have to make the darkest decision…

An insignificant pocket of his mind spared the moment to wonder at how he had gone from standing in a corner to sitting in a chair. Another moment later, Drogo realised that he did not care in the least. He did not care if he stood or sat or was left dangling by his feet from the tallest tree in the Shire. In fact, he did not care about anything at all, save for the two souls that were struggling so desperately for survival beyond closed doors.

It was amazing how very suddenly everything fell into such sharp perspective. In that moment, he knew without a doubt that he loved his wife and unborn child more than he loved himself and everything else he had ever known. The thought that either one of them might not live to see the day through almost shattered his heart and sent him reeling to the ground with the vague hope that it might swallow him up, salvaging him from this place of despair.

And indeed it was despair. For he knew that this time, there was no other way out. It had come down to the cold hard facts of science – a realm where luck was non-existent, and fate was calculated. How he was ever going to make his choice, he knew not. Yet one had to be made, lest he lose everything.

"Drogo?"

Drogo's attention snapped fully back to reality. He blinked his eyes into focus and found that he was surrounded by a concerned ring of faces.

"Are you alright, Drogo?" said Rory carefully, a frown betraying his worry. "You look awfully pale."

"I'm fine," said Drogo, his voice hollow. He wasn't even able to convince himself. As if in response to the thought, beyond the immediate circle of faces, Bilbo snorted.

"If you are fine, then I am an Elf," he said, his face showing no lines of humour. Instead, his warm brown eyes were alight with his own concern. He sought only to understand, and to help however he could. "Come now, Drogo. Tell us what's on your mind. Judging by the look that's been plastered on your face for the last few minutes, I'm guessing that Mistress Clearwater did not bring good news. I would suggest you be out with it now before it eats at you any further."

Bilbo's voice was steady, almost encouraging. Drogo sighed, feeling a slight weight shift from his shoulders. It suddenly felt like a very good idea to confide in Bilbo Baggins. He rose to his feet, agitation apparent in his stiff movements. How could he tell them? How could all this have happened? With initial shock somehow beginning to wear off, he now felt as restless as a young tween. He broke through the ring and began to unconsciously pace again.

"Good news," he muttered darkly. "Good news. What I wouldn't give for a piece of good news to come from that room." His steps quickened and his brows quirked into a concentrated frown. "It wasn't good news at all," he said in a louder voice, addressing his fellow hobbits, though he could not bring himself to look at them directly. His footsteps became heavier and his tongue felt like a leaden weight in his mouth as he forced it to speak words that he so desperately loathed.

"Complications have arisen. Mistress Iris says that both Prim and the baby are having trouble coping." His voice hitched ever so slightly. He pushed himself to continue. "Prim… she's weakening. If in an hour's time not enough… _progress_ has been made, Mistress Iris says they will have to force the baby out." At last, Drogo's voice cracked and he stopped speaking. He had never felt so alone and so painfully afraid. The silence that had suddenly befallen the room hung heavy for several moments. A palpable shock registered in every face and heart that remained in the parlour. For several heartbeats, no one could move.

"There's more, isn't there," said Dinodas Brandybuck slowly, always the perceptive one when it came to his siblings. His voice and words seemed foreign in that time, and uncomfortable glances were diverted to the ground.

"There is," sighed Drogo wearily, his head drooping even further. The next words he forced from his mouth tasted as bitter as blood to him. But he knew they had to be said. He could not deny them any longer. "If it comes to forcing the baby out, only one of them can be saved – either Primula or the baby."

It was as though winter had come early and the room had been frozen. Coldness born of deep fears crept upon the hearts of the gathered hobbits. The weight and tension in the air suddenly fused to become a heavy oppression. Drogo could almost feel that thunderstorm breaking. He could feel the weight of every eye about him rested on his form. He dared to look up. Every face wore an identical expression of shock mingled with denial and fear, and even anger.

"But…" sputtered Saradas, cracking the silence. "But… No! _No_! It's _impossible_! Prim was fine before! It… This _can't be_!"

"I wish you were right," said Drogo hoarsely, no longer even hearing his own voice.

"I _am_ right!" said Saradas, his voice rising. He broke from the group and stepped towards Drogo, his movements almost threatening. "I must be! I know my sister and she wouldn't… She couldn't… I tell you it's impossible! She's too strong! She's been waiting too long for this baby to have everything go to shambles like this. I say you _must_ be wrong. She's a healthy and strong woman. You're _wrong_!"

Drogo's brown gaze, usually so warm and lively, was now hard and cold. Out of all of Primula's siblings, he and Saradas had never quite seen eye-to-eye. Though they had long ago agreed to forget their differences for Primula's sake, Drogo could not stop the sudden flaring of anger that burst from within him now. "Tell that to the two children she and I have already lost," he forced. Now he was looking Saradas directly in the eye, and his voice was low and challenging. There was a long and awkward silence that lingered like a bad aftertaste in the air. Saradas suddenly did not look so menacing.

"The truth of the matter is," continued Drogo, his voice bitter, yet amazingly, controlled. "That we feared something like this would happen all along. You forget – we have suffered a miscarriage and a stillbirth already, Saradas. And now our third child is five weeks early. While you might be in denial, I can tell you right now that this is very real." His vision blurred as his eyes clouded with tears of a thousand emotions. But he would not let that stop him now. He continued speaking, every syllable weighted with feeling. "And if you really loved your sister, then you would give her the support she needs. She does _not_ need her brother losing his head."

There was another pause as Drogo's eyes bored into Saradas. The hobbit stood still for a moment like a caught animal, before finally nodding slowly, his expression now one of shame. It was very rare that he backed down from an argument, but it was even more rare that Drogo would speak thus. "I'm sorry," he choked. "You are right."

"What happens now, Drogo?" asked Bilbo quietly, his gentle tone breaking the lingering tension in the room. His anger suddenly dispelled, Drogo sighed miserably as his mind was brought back to the choice that stood before him.

"I have to choose between them," he said despondently. "In an hour's time Mistress Iris will come back and I must tell her which life is to be saved."

"_WHAT_?"

Everyone turned to regard the future Master of Buckland in surprise. Saradoc Brandybuck rarely raised his voice in such open fury. "I'm sorry," he said in a hard voice, looking to Drogo. Though it was not towards his uncle that the tween's anger was directed. "But how could she possibly give you such a decision to make? _No one _should have to choose between wife and child, and especially not in a situation like this. Tell me, how she could _possibly_ expect anyone to do it?"

"I don't know," said Drogo morosely. "But I must make a choice all the same. Such is the responsibility given to me."

"But still," said Paladin with a frown. "It _is_ an _impossibly_ difficult choice. How would any one of us choose in such a position?"

"I don't know," said Drogo, slumping into a nearby chair, suddenly weary beyond reckoning. "How _do_ I choose?"

* * *

Iris sighed as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Thankfully there had not been many occasions throughout her career where she had been in such a situation as she was now. It almost broke her heart having to give such terrible news to a family when it was supposed to be a joyous occasion. But such were the obstacles of life. One never knew what fate would serve next. But all the same, she still hated placing such a heavy burden on the shoulders of the father. For a man to have to choose between his wife and child _was_ an evil decision that should never have to be made. Iris almost wished she could make the decision for Mr Baggins instead. But her policies would not allow it. If ever it came to the crossroads, then the choice had to be made by the father. That was how it had been ever since she had become an independent midwife. She could not make an exception now. 

Dutifully she conducted another quick examination of Primula. Nothing had changed. She sighed again, relieving Menegilda from her task. It was going to be a _very_ long day.

* * *

The minutes had been ticking by, slowly but surely. The group of men that sat in the Master's quarters had all fallen quiet and contemplative. Almost three quarters of an hour had passed since Iris had delivered the news, and still Drogo was no nearer to making his decision. 

"Surely you should choose the one most likely to live?" said Dodinas, who had no wife or children of his own. At the breach in quiet, the others looked up, startled by the sudden voice after all had been still for so long. "You know – support the strongest cause? If one of them is going to die anyway…" His voice trailed off, choking slightly. He had been looking forward as much as the next hobbit to greeting Primula's child. She had wanted a family of her own more than anything. The thought of his youngest sister having to live childless was one he did not dare entertain. But the thought of himself living without Prim…

"In that case," said Dinodas slowly, who had also remained a bachelor. "You should choose the weaker one. Maybe the stronger one will still be able to pull through on their own anyway?" His voice carried little conviction, and his shoulders sagged slightly.

"I don't know," said Drogo hesitantly. "I got the impression that one of them would…" The words suddenly caught in his throat. He forced the wave of nausea and emotion that swelled up inside of him back down to the deepest pit of his stomach. He forced himself to speak again, though his voice was barely more than a whisper. "That one of them would definitely die."

There was another uncomfortable pause. Saradoc squirmed restlessly in his chair. He knew that he was not yet of age, and that he had not quite the knowledge and experience of the older men about him. Quite frankly he hoped that he _never_ had to go through what Drogo Baggins was going through now.

His thoughts drifted to Esmeralda. He might not have as much life experiences, but he _did_ know what it was to be in love. And he cared very much for Drogo and Primula. His father's youngest sister was probably his favourite aunt out of the numerous ones he had on both his father's and mother's sides of the family. Amaranth and Asphodel were strict and rather formidable – uncannily similar to his own mother at times. But Primula had always been a gentle spirit, quick to help others, and quick to smile and laugh. Saradoc had been looking forward to meeting her new baby just as much as everyone else. He felt nothing but the utmost sympathy for the couple at finding themselves in such a plight. He looked over to Drogo, seeing that the older hobbit looked to be on the very verge of a breakdown. Saradoc didn't think it would be much different if it was himself.

The thought gave him pause. What if it _was_ himself and his Essie? He could not even begin to imagine. Would he be able to choose between his child and Esmeralda? The very thought seemed impossible to comprehend. He loved Esmeralda more than anyone and anything else, and had always pictured spending the rest of his life with her. They had been courting for a while now, and both knew that once they were of age, they would be marrying. But even now Saradoc knew that he would not be able to live without her. If she were to die, it would break him beyond repair…

But what of the baby? He knew he would not be able to condemn his child to death, especially when it had not yet even met the world. He would never be able to forgive himself, not to mention how his Essie would feel…

But then another thought struck Saradoc. Ever the rational and logical mind, he wondered further about the baby. Just how long _would_ a premature baby survive without its mother? Not too long, he imagined. Especially if it was already finding it difficult to cope when it had not even been born yet.

Saradoc shivered at the thought, looking across to his uncle. He was still pacing, his expression intensely concentrated. Shadows haunted his eyes and his skin was pale. He looked scared. Saradoc didn't blame him in the least. He would be terrified if he was Drogo. He probably wouldn't even be able to stand, let alone think straight…

"Drogo?"

The older hobbit looked up, startled from his dark trance. He looked over at Saradoc. The tween was looking uncomfortable, though there was a definite glint of self-assurance. Drogo had seen this look before. Saradoc was a hobbit mature beyond his years. Rorimac had pushed him hard and taught him well to prepare him for his future position as Master of Buckland and Brandy Hall. But he had not yet grown truly comfortable or confident with speaking his mind – especially when his thoughts were about a matter that concerned his elders. Nevertheless, Drogo had learned to respect the younger hobbit's opinions. But this time, judging by the look on Saradoc's face, Drogo wasn't sure if he would like what was about to be said.

"What is it, lad?" he asked wearily.

"I know it's not exactly my place to say," began the future Master carefully. His voice was low, as though he felt guilty for his thoughts. Yet his eyes looked into his cousin's, his gaze never faltering. "But… I think you should choose to save Aunt Prim."

For a long moment Drogo held Saradoc's gaze. The tween felt himself flushing as he sensed the other men looking at him too.

"I don't think she would survive for much longer, knowing that we have lost another child." Drogo's voice was hollowed once more, his gaze becoming heavy with sorrow.

"You might be right," agreed Saradoc. "But… I think she would live longer than your baby would. I mean-" he hurried on, sensing an interruption of some sort. "How long could a premature babe last without its mother? I don't know much about this sort of thing, but I've heard that those who are born too early have to stay with their mothers all the time until they're stronger. And if your little one doesn't have Aunt Primmie around…"

Saradoc's voice trailed off and he looked down at his hands. He had said too much. He knew it. Drogo continued to stare at him, a frown blossoming on his features. It was hard to say whether it originated from deep thought, disapproval or something else. But at last he sighed, and sank into a nearby chair.

"I can understand your point, Saradoc," he said, his voice edging on tightness. "But I'm not sure that I can so quickly condemn my own son or daughter. After all… Prim would want me to choose our babe, I'm sure of it."

Saradoc opened his mouth, looking to protest. But his father cut him short. "That's enough, Saradoc," Rory said sharply. "You've said your part." Looking to his father, Saradoc did not doubt that his was a frown of disapproval.

"He does have a point, though, Rory," said Bilbo quietly, looking thoughtful. "And Drogo… though I can understand you wanting to think of your wife's wishes, I don't doubt that nearly any woman would choose her child's life over her own."

"You are probably right," said Drogo, a hint of impatience edging into his tone. "But-"

Again, any protests were cut short, though this time by the sound of an opening door. Every face snapped around to see Esmeralda standing in the doorway to the study. Her face was pale and her green eyes were dull with exhaustion, but wide with fear. Her hands and arms, which were dripping with water, trembled slightly as nimble fingers worried frenetically at her skirts.

"Drogo!" she said breathlessly. "You _must_ come at once! Mistress Iris says that the hour's up and you have to come now. Primula's been calling for you. She-"

Esmeralda got no further before Drogo was pushing past her and making his way to his wife. She watched him as he opened the bedroom door behind him. For a brief moment, a strangled yell of agony tore through the air like a whip.

Then all within the room was still. A sharp snap announced the bedroom door closing once more. Silence reigned in the parlour.

* * *

Drogo had taken all of one step into a place of chaos. He had been in this room many times before, but now, it was unrecognisable. His mind could not register what he was seeing. His senses reeled. The only thing he could comprehend was the sight directly before him. Primula lay on her old bed, white as death and drenched in sweat. Her fair face was contorted in pain. Drogo yearned to go to her, to pick up her white hand and hold it in his own. He wanted nothing more than to sit by her and brush the sweat-drenched curls from her face. But something had rendered him immobile. He was stone. He could no longer feel or hear or taste or smell or think. He could only see his wife. 

And then he saw Iris Clearwater. She stepped in front of his line of vision, her mouth moving though Drogo could discern no words. She frowned at him, then turned her attention around to Primula for a moment, bringing his wife back into his line of sight. Drogo felt a slight pang of fleeting relief. He never wanted to have his wife taken from his sight again. Ever.

He continued to stare at her. Her lips moved. She had called his name. Pushing past Iris, Drogo at last moved to the bedside, sitting in a chair that had been hastily vacated by Asphodel. He found Primula's hand, and clasped it gently in both of his own. Her face turned to him, and a weak smile floated on her wan lips. She squeezed his hand, the simple movement conveying to him all that he needed to know. She was exhausted, and she was terrified. But she was thankful beyond words that he was now with her.

Drogo sensed Iris's presence beside him again. She was kneeling by his chair, and looking intently into his face. As Primula's eyes clenched shut again with another explosion of pain that ripped through her body, Drogo tore one eye from her, keeping her still within his peripheral vision. Looking into Iris's face, he wished he had not moved. Her expression was grim and her lips pursed tight.

Drogo Baggins knew that his life had ended.

* * *

_A/N: goodness gracious could this possibly be an update? lol. i have to begin by saying how terribly sorry i am for taking so long to update. i'm afraid it's the same excuse though - school has been hell. exams are coming up and study leave is beginning soon, so the pressure's really on. but i hope you all enjoy this chapter, and hope it's not too... i dunno. but i can understand if anyone thinks it sounds too controversial or unrealistic or insensitive. i myself am only 16 and don't know what it's like to be in a situation like this, so i'm only writing from my imagination. but again, i am deeply sorry if this does offend anyone._

_Baggins'babe: it's my worst nightmare too. i kinda feel bad just writing it... but i hope you still enjoy the writing! lol. _

_Breon Briarwood: and things keep seeming to get worse. i feel so bad for what i put all these characters through! i hope you could wait long enough for this. i was glad to hear, btw, that your fingers have all grown back. just don't go chewing them all off again. no need to get into nasty habbits. ;-)_

_Iorhael: the fact that we know how it'll turn out is kind of a relief, in my opinion. ;-) i'm glad to see you're still interested though:D i'm just as interested as you to know how this is going to end... well... i'm sure you know what i mean. ;-)_

_Kaewi: i think the edge off the cliffhanger is a bit of a relief to me too. and thank you very much for the lovely compliment about the writing. you're making me blush! )_

_lovethosehobbits: my goodness! THIRTY-SIX HOURS? i give you a standing ovation! you must be a superwoman! i seriously do feel in awe of mothers. happy mother's day, btw, for sunday. D i hope you were spoiled rotten! you deserve it! 36 hours... ;-) (hope you continue to enjoy this fic, btw)_

_Nimrodel of Meneltarma: thank you for your support. i have to tell you, it really has been torture abandoning my fics like i have. but at least i've been able to send this chapter through. ) and don't worry about the spelling mistakes! i'm actually about to take my french oral exam on wednesday. got any tips? lol. ;-) hope you enjoy this chapter though..._

_Tulip Proudfoot: i think my jaw's dropping a bit too. i think there must be something wrong with my head, the things i think up. lol. i hope this fic still continues to hold your interest though. )_

_willofthering: your update is served! lol. hope you still enjoy it. and sorry again for taking so long to update!_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Little One**_

_Disclaimer: Nope, still don't own LOTR. All the characters, places etc belong to people who are not me… Don't look at me like that!… What do you mean, I'm kidnapping them! _

**Chapter 4**

It was as though a spell had been cast. For several long moments that seemed to have frozen with the clocks, Bilbo Baggins rather hoped that Gandalf could turn people into stone, and was playing a somewhat ill favoured joke. After all, the wizard did like to make an entrance, from time to time. Bilbo glanced over to the nearest window, almost going so far as _wishing_ to see his old friend's familiar face. But instead, all he saw was silver hills flecked with green, and a pale yellow horizon. The Sun was beginning her great ascent into the skies. A new day had come at last.

Bilbo sighed heavily, falling back into his seat as slow realisation crawled into his weary mind. He was seventy-eight years old today.

Of course, he had brought birthday presents with him to distribute among his friends and relatives, and a few more just in case. Before he had left Hobbiton for Brandy Hall, he had given presents to those he knew he would not see until he returned home. However, the majority of gifts he was to give this year had been for hobbits he knew would be in Buckland. But now, with the Hall filled with such anxiety, tension and even despair, it felt so terribly cruel that today should ever have been a day for celebrating someone's birth.

Shifting his gaze from the slowly lightening landscape to the hobbits sitting and standing about him, he knew now that there was only one gift he wanted them to receive on this day. Taking in their sombre expressions, fused with various degrees of denial, Bilbo sighed again. None of this was right. Today, they should have been celebrating _two_ birthdays. Drogo and Primula deserved that much.

Almost restlessly, he continued to look around him. Esmeralda still stood in the doorway to the study, her usually sunny face looking awkward and fretful. Saradoc was only halfheartedly trying to lead her to his vacated seat. "Have a seat, Essie," he begged. "You look like you could fall asleep on the spot. You need to look after yourself, you know."

"Look after myself?" choked Esmeralda, her voice trembling and high. "How can I possibly think of myself when Prim is so close to having the baby? I really should be in there helping! Saradoc let me go back to her!"

Saradoc gave a frustrated sigh and tried again to coax her into having a rest, completely ignoring her pleas. She looked to be half in shock, the flaring of the argumentative side of her Took heritage being a clear indicator that she was coming to the end of her rope. But whatever argument he himself put up, his words completely washed over Bilbo. The old hobbit was staring hard at Esmeralda, a frown belittling his face. He rose once more to his feet, his shoulders tensed. One hand crept into a pocket in his waistcoat and began fiddling with the trinket within distractedly.

"What did you just say, Essie?" he said, his voice low.

"I said that I'm fine," said Esmeralda, her tone more biting. "I don't need to take a rest."

"No – before that."

"How can I possibly think of myself when Prim is so close to having the baby?"

"Yes," said Bilbo. "That. Do you mean to say that the baby is _almost born_?"

"Yes," said Esmeralda, looking slightly surprised. "We've finally had some progress. Mistress Iris doesn't think it should take too much longer now before the baby's born. But she's still very worried, of course. Prim's fighting like anything, though she still isn't looking too good. I think it's the baby they're more worried about now."

"You mean they both might make it alive?" exclaimed Saradas, jumping to his feet. The mood of the room shifted. The tension mounted, though now it was one swelling with hope.

"Well…" said Esmeralda carefully. "Both Prim and the baby still have quite a way to go yet before they're out of the woods, so to speak. And like I said, Mistress Iris is still worried. But since things have progressed to the next stage, I'd say the chances of both surviving have probably increased."

The sudden blast of sound that exploded within the parlour was enough to send two young maids, who had been outside sweeping the hall, scuttling.

* * *

For a small pocket of moments, Iris felt more concerned for the wellbeing of the father than she did for the mother and child. Drogo's complete lack of response – although not entirely surprising – was beginning to worry her. When he finally looked her straight in the eye, she saw fully how hollowed and haunted his gaze was. He was in shock. 

"Mr Baggins?" she said sharply. Drogo blinked a few times before his eyes slowly came into focus. He did not speak. "Mr Baggins, are you feeling quite alright?"

Iris could almost see the wheels slowly turning in Drogo's mind. "Eglantine," she said impatiently. "Get Mr Baggins some water, please. She glanced up only to assure herself that Eglantine had heard, before redirecting her gaze back to the hobbit before her.

"Mr Baggins," she tried again. "I need you to listen to me _very carefully_. I will not lie to you. I would much prefer it if you were back outside with the other men where you belong. I think you would only get in the way here. But your wife has been _begging_ for you to be by her side. Right now, the need to keep her as calm as possible overrules tradition. But if you are not feeling well, and if you are not going to do as I say, then I'm afraid you will have to leave. We can not afford any mistakes right now. Do you understand?"

She looked deeply into Drogo's eyes. They really were a lovely shade of brown; as solid as the earth itself, she almost fancied. The midwife had no doubt that when he was in higher spirits, or even just his usual self, that Drogo's eyes would have the most cheering spring sparkle. But now…

She felt as though she were falling through his gaze, tumbling out of control through that void of confusion and chaos that would only ever be seen in a child's eyes. Children were so blissfully ignorant to the cold realities that often came with adulthood. Such an expression of utter bewilderment only _could_ come to one lost in a world of swarming adults. Iris privately mourned that look which she saw in Drogo Baggins' eyes. It felt like a splinter to her heart to think that he had no understanding of what was happening around him. _Poor fool_. It was not really an adult's place to feel thus, though she knew the man could not help it. Her misgivings for his presence in the bedroom increased. This was not going to work.

But then, as she pulled herself out of her brief reverie, she realised that things had changed. That look in Drogo's eyes was melting away. Grim determination thinned his stubborn mouth into a fine line. He gave a jerk of his head. He understood. She nodded her head in response.

"Good," she said, brisk manner returning as she looked back to Primula. "I will be straight with you, Mr Baggins. Your wife's situation has improved a little. She is about to enter the second stage of the birth."

"She's improved?" exclaimed Drogo brightly. For the first time since entering the room, he gave Iris his full attention for but a moment as he awarded her a sunny smile. The world suddenly seemed a much better place for him having heard those words. Seeing her audience's attention so fully concentrated on her, Iris quickly opened her mouth to continue, only to find that she was too late. With a patience-seeking glance to the ceiling above, she pasted her most severe frown on her face and planted her hands firmly on her hips.

"_Mr Baggins_!"

She used her sharpest tone and succeeded in making the other women about her jump. Drogo, on the other hand, was utterly lost to her attempts as he told his wife lovingly how proud he was of her to have found such strength to continue on how she could. "In a moment, Mistress Clearwater," he said vaguely in response to the midwife.

"_Mr Baggins do you wish to remain in this room or shall I ask Amaranth to take you out_?"

That did it. Iris had been a friend of the Master's family for many years, and she always gave an ear to what gossip they shared with her. She had heard all about Drogo's fear of Amaranth Brandybuck and her legendary moods. All the better for her that Amaranth appeared to be in one of those moods now. With a consternated frown, Drogo looked back up to Iris. "What is it?" he asked shortly.

"As I was saying," continued the midwife, emphasising each word to ensure her audience's engagement held. "Your wife is about to enter the second stage of her labour."

For a moment there was an odd pause. Drogo's frown morphed to one of confusion as he peered up at her, apparently completely lost on what he had just heard.

"It comes in stages?"

_Men. Purely exasperating creatures._

"_Yes_. And Primula is about to start the next one. _The pushing one_."

"Oh."

Apparently she had found a language she could work with. "Yes. Unfortunately, it means that there is still the large possibility that something could go wrong. Now, I would like you to take a good look at where you are currently positioned in this room."

Drogo's face dissolved into downright bewilderment. This was why men were not allowed in the birthing room. Iris suppressed another roll of the eyes and waited as patiently as she could while Drogo's eyes darted about the room, taking in his surroundings.

"As you may have noted," said Iris. "You are currently seated in a chair next to the bed. From now on until I say otherwise, _you are to stay in that chair_. Under _no_ circumstances whatsoever are you to leave it – no matter what happens – unless I specifically say to you to move elsewhere. Do you understand me?"

"Yes…"

"Good. From your position in your chair, you are allowed to comfort your wife. You may hold her hand and touch her face and talk to her, but unless she or I say otherwise, you may not come into physical contact with her in any other way. Do you understand?"

"Yes…"

"Excellent. Now understand this – in a few moments, I will be asking your wife to push. When this happens, I will be needing to focus all of my attention on her and the baby. That means that you must not interrupt myself or anyone else unless it is a real emergency. Do you understand?"

Drogo opened his mouth, about to respond, when Menegilda cut him off. "Iris, she's ready."

The midwife looked from Primula to Menegilda, then to the other women in the room. They were all looking to her now, waiting for her command. She knew what she had to do.

"Eglantine, Amaranth," she said. "I don't know what's become of her, but if you would join Esmeralda outside this room, please."

"_Excuse me_?"

Unsurprisingly, it was Amaranth who looked to be preparing for battle. That woman had more fire than a forgery, sometimes, and Iris mentally cursed its outbreak now. "You heard me," she said, her voice even.

"I'm not going anywhere."

Iris turned then, facing Amaranth Brandybuck. Her patience was surely about to snap at any moment. "Mistress Brandybuck," she said. "Your sister is about to give birth to her first child. I'll remind you that this has already proven to be a complicated labour. I know you are Primula's sister, and I know you want to be here for her right now. However, you are not going to help by staying in this room. It is already overcrowded in here and I need as much room to work as I can get. You are not as experienced in childbirth as Menegilda, Asphodel and myself. Your absence, and the absences of Eglantine and Esmeralda, can be afforded. Do not argue with me on this. Your sister and her child cannot afford the time."

It took only one more look to Primula for Amaranth to consent. With a quick bow of her head, and a swish of her skirts, she left the room without a word. She did not trust herself to speak. Eglantine followed her closely, worrying at her skirts all the while. Iris expelled a sigh of relief as the door closed, and turned back to Drogo. "Do you understand all that I have said to you?"

"Yes."

"Do you have any questions?"

His previous feelings of delight now all but evaporated, Drogo returned his gaze to his wife, and mutely shook his head. Prim's face was contorted in a silent agony as he assumed another contraction ripped through her body. He could not remember another time when he had felt more pity – or more admiration – for the strength of women. Without being fully conscious of it, he brought Primula's hand – still wrapped within his own – to his lips and kissed it. She opened her eyes then, and looked up at him. He thought he tried to conjure an encouraging smile to his face. He never knew if he succeeded.

"Primula?"

It was time. The youngest of the Master's siblings looked up at the midwife. "When the next contraction comes, I'm going to need you to push as hard as you can, alright?"

Primula nodded. Biting furiously on her bottom lip, she squeezed her husband's hand, and held out her other. In a heartbeat, it was captured by Asphodel's. "This is it, Primmie," said her sister softly. "Soon you're going to be a mama."

"We'll finally have our own child," added Drogo.

"Drogo… Delly…" Primula's cracked whisper was cut off by her own cry as the familiar pain shocked through her. On instinct, she clutched Drogo and Asphodel's hands harder, desperately, wanting it all to go away. She was so tired… weak and shaky… It was like she had a bad bout of flu – but worse… foreign… From a great distance, she thought she heard voices calling to her, telling her things she probably should have been listening to. Such was truly beyond her in this moment. No clear thoughts could penetrate her fevered mind as she faced the onslaught of agony.

But then suddenly, she felt her body sag. The pain receded a little. The realisation came that she had recovered the ability to open her eyes. The contraction had passed. Her ears unblocked. "Good, Primula," Iris was saying. "You're doing well. Keep it up-"

Primula had barely processed the words before she felt another wave of pain crash within and around her. A scream ripped through the close air of the room, flying out like a plague around the Master's Quarters. A bead of sweat dribbled down her face. Once more, her ears felt an impression of voices about her. Again, she could not comprehend what sounds they formed. Truly, she did not care. Every nerve within her was focused on nature's gift of instinct to an impending mother. She was able to recognise a flutter of relief as she realised her body seemed to mostly know what to do. She did not have to think.

But hardly had the relief within her become known when another sensation gripped her. _Panic_. The pain was not stopping. She thought it should have dimmed again, by now. It had not. Instead, it seemed only to continue swelling. Her entire abdomen felt to be on the very brink of exploding. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe. Instinct kicked in. Something was wrong.

"My baby…"

Drogo and Asphodel felt the change before Primula's gasp fell to their ears. They looked across at each other, a flaring of fear dancing across their features. As one they looked back down at their Prim. Tears were coursing down her cheeks. Her breath choked out. Her jaw was locked in a silent scream – her expression of agony paralysed. The pain was becoming too much.

"Iris…" Asphodel's shaky inquiry brought Iris's gaze up from her position. She saw Primula, and cursed under her breath.

"Breathe, Primula!" she said loudly. "Stay with us! You're getting there. Keep breathing!"

"Hurts…" Primula's sob was feeble, childlike. Drogo felt his heart cracking to hear it. Tears slid silently down Asphodel's face.

"Come, love," said Drogo softly in his wife's ear. "Not much longer to go now. Just think of what it will feel like to hold your very own babe."

Primula retched out a sob. Drogo's words rang in her ears, fusing with the sound of her own scream as she felt the pain intensifying yet again, and she knew she had to push. His words tugged on the edges of her mind, and she relived the explicit bliss that had surged through her when she had realised that she was pregnant again. She saw in her mind Drogo's jubilant face when she had told him the news. The past months replayed in her memory as she watched her belly gradually swelling with the life that developed within. All throughout, she had been so sure that this time would see her with her own living child – at long last. Such knowledge came from the same unnamed source that told her that this time would also be her last chance to have a family of her own.

Resolve hardened within her. She wanted this baby too much to let anything happen to it now. White hot lights like fireworks crackled behind her clenched eyelids as she summoned the very last drops of energy left to her. Menegilda's voice suddenly filtered through her ears.

"I can see the head!"

Drogo and Asphodel remained tense and still, their breath hitching in their throats. They didn't realise when their hands lost all feeling as Primula squeezed them with a renewed fire. Her scream pierced the room, making the very air tremble.

"Push, Primula! _Push_!"

No one knew if she heard. Beyond the walls, in the Master's sitting room, every hobbit gathered was on their feet, every pair of eyes staring intently through the open door into the study, and further ahead to the closed door from which the cries spilled forth. Only Bilbo was aware when a new warmth gently grazed his cheek. He looked around for a source, only to be dazzled by an explosion of colour and light. Dawn had come.

Behind closed doors, as the Sun's glory filtered through the lone round window, a second cry filled the bedroom.

The sound was small and broken. Iris knew she would have to work quickly. On the bed before her, Primula's body slumped. Her face was shining with a sheen of sweat and tears, her cheeks flushed with high roses of colour. She could not move. She could not remember ever feeling so exhausted, weak and shaky. Her grip on her husband and sister's hands loosened. It took some moments before it registered that they did not loosen their grip in return. She lifted her eyes, looking up into Drogo's face. He did not look back down at her. His gaze was concentrated on the end of the bed, his intense expression frozen. Primula followed his eyes and felt all the breath left in her expel in a shuddering sob.

She could not see her baby, but she could see what Iris Clearwater did to it. Fresh tears streamed down her face as she watched the midwife unwrap the umbilical cord from around her baby's neck. Three times. Suddenly she knew; her baby could not breathe properly.

Carefully and with a measured practice, Iris cleared the tiny airways. The small face was blue, the body's movements becoming weaker. The chest convulsed, but no sound came out. Silence flooded the room. Nobody seemed to breathe.

Iris was the only one that moved as she continued her work. She unblocked the tiny nostrils, then the small mouth. Airways cleared, she wrapped the teeny body in a towel to wipe it clean from its gruelling journey. She could only pray that the movements of her ministrations would be enough to partly shock the little one into breathing properly on its own.

Nine painstaking heartbeats passed before the silence of the room was shattered by a fragile cough, followed immediately by the sound that Drogo and Primula had longed to hear for many years. Their tiny little baby began crying again, the sound no longer choked, but simply alerting the world to its current displeasure. Gently, and with a bright smile that completely transformed her traditionally stern features, Iris transferred the newborn to a wrapping of the softest of blankets, and moved to the bedside, cradling her dear cargo carefully.

"Primula," she said softly. "Drogo, I'd like you to meet your son."

Now pale, and worn far beyond what words could describe, Primula gave a strangled sob of joy as Iris placed into her arms her own little lad.

He was exceptionally small. One wiry arm struggled out of the swaddling and began waving about, not entirely sure what to make of all this new space. Savouring the moment for all eternity, Primula brought her baby closer to her, feeling with a deep reverence its body heat, and each movement it made. Softly, she kissed his head, already dusted with a few wisps of dark curls. Her eyes shuttered closed as her other senses marked this experience to treasure for always.

"It's alright," she murmured. "You're safe now, my little one. You're safe."

"Little one?" said Menegilda quietly. She had moved to Asphodel's side, and looked upon the scene with a smile. "That's hardly a fit name for such a fine lad."

"What are you going to name him?" asked Asphodel. Primula opened her eyes, looking to her husband. He sat on the edge of the bed, one arm draped around her shoulders. His eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on their son. Never before had he seen such a precious miracle – such a tiny being. And his wife – his own dear Prim – she had brought him their little miracle. _Their son_.

He had not thought it possible to love anything more than he loved his wife. Primula had been his world for some years already. But in those cherished moments, as dawn's glory illuminated the room and the baby's cries died down to soft gurgles, Drogo fell in love all over again, both with his wife, and his son. "He does need a name, doesn't he?" he said at last, not taking his eyes from the bundle. "What did we say again, Prim? Primrose if it was a lass…"

"We never decided on a name for a lad," said Primula quietly.

"You had better hurry up and choose one then," Menegilda teased gently. "We can't present a nameless babe to the family."

"Well," said Drogo. "He is a Baggins, so his name must end in 'o'."

"All your siblings' names start with 'd'," said Primula. "Dudo carried that on with Daisy. Shall we do the same?" Looking up at her husband, she noted the change in his expression. His countenance became suddenly thoughtful. Looking down at his son, he shook his head slowly.

"I don't think his name should start with 'd'," he said quietly. "Like you said, Dudo already carried on that tradition with Daisy. If… if it's alright with you, my love… I'd like it if his name started with 'f'."

"For Fosco," said Primula softly. Drogo nodded. It had been some years since Drogo's father had passed on, and he had grieved long for his loss. He had loved his father dearly. Primula had quickly grown to appreciate similar affections herself for the kind old hobbit. She knew how much it would mean to Drogo to see his father's memory honoured.

"Of course his name can begin with 'f'," she said. "I still think there should be a 'd' in there somewhere, though."

"Fdo Baggins, now, is it?" commented Asphodel lightly. She lost her internal battle and grinned down at her sister who promptly scowled back up at her. "Please tell me there's more yet to come."

"Be quiet, Delly," said Primula. "This is no laughing matter."

"I'm not the one who is making it such," replied Asphodel, though very, very quietly.

"How about you honour the father of the babe more?" suggested Iris gently.

"What do you mean?" asked Drogo, looking startled.

"By having your son's name have similar sounds to your own," explained Iris. "It is a common device used when naming lads. It tells everyone who the proud father is, at least. And the mother, when it comes to it."

There was a quiet pause as everyone considered this. Primula gazed back down at her little lad, now peacefully asleep in her arms. Her lips tugged up into a smile of complete adoration. When she had pictured what her child would look like, she had always imagined the Baggins features to be dominant. But now, as she looked on at the common baby features that would later mature and develop, she thought she caught a hint of a more delicate face. A refined nose, a defined jaw, wide eyes. Brandybuck features. Her smile widened. Combine that with Baggins features, and her little lad was going to be chasing away the lasses – that she was certain of. He would surely need a good name to suit him. Something dignified sounding, befitting for one that came from two such prominent families. She considered Iris's words.

_Drogo…_

The beloved name whispered to her, and immediately, almost inexplicably, another followed it.

_Frodo…_

Like a content sigh on the wind, it danced about in her ears, playful and bright, with a soft eloquence – soothing and strong all at once. She loved it already. She wanted to say it over and over. It rolled around in her mind, and as it did, she fancied she spied distant visions. She could not make them out, but echo back to her they did, hinting at grand things. Was her lad going to become Mayor, perhaps? Or would he become the best there was in a skill of sorts? She could not quite tell, but all the same, she knew without doubt that her son was going to grow up to do great things. Best he have a strong name – befitting of what future deeds he would do.

"Frodo," she said aloud. About her, the others stirred. As one, each face turned to gaze upon the sleeping babe.

"Frodo…" murmured Drogo thoughtfully. He smiled brightly, kissing his wife's forehead. "I love it."

"Frodo Baggins…" tried Menegilda. She too smiled. In Primula's arms, the tiny babe stirred. "It seems he likes it too."

"Certainly a lot better than Fdo," said Asphodel, her eyes glistening with a teasing sparkle. Primula chuckled softly, not having the energy to reprimand her sister.

"So be it," said Iris. "Welcome to the world, Frodo son of Drogo, born at dawn on the 22nd of September."

"Is that really the date?" said Drogo in surprise. "Our little lad shares the same birthday as Bilbo."

"I think he would like that," mumbled Primula with a tired smile. She felt herself sinking deeper into the bed as the last of her energy left her. Sleep beckoned.

"Frodo Baggins," said Drogo. He paused, gazing at his son with the loving, proud smile that only a father knows. Seeing his wife beginning to drift off at last, he carefully took the babe from her arms, holding him in his own for the first time. As emotions swirled within him, his smile suddenly split into a grin. He looked up at the other women in the room. "Please let me be the one to tell Amaranth."

Quiet laughter filled the room. Drogo sat back down in his seat with his precious charge while Menegilda and Asphodel left to make the announcement and send for Amaranth. Iris lingered, performing sweeping checks over Primula and Frodo to ensure that all was well. Then she too departed to see to a cradle being brought to the room.

As Primula gave in fully to the lulling song of sleep at last, she found that she still smiled. She never thought she would be so blessed. She had her own family at last. But even as the thought surfaced, even as she passed into the realm of slumber, she could have sworn that she smelt a hint of the Sea.

_TBC_

* * *

_A/N: Before anything else, I just want to say that I am not a mother, doctor, obstetrician, midwife etc.I don't know if I've been medically correct in any descriptions, so please forgive me for any mistakes. There's either going to be one more chapter before the epilogue, or just the epilogue to come - I haven't decided yet. But either way, the end is in sight, lol. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. )_

_Baggins'babe - Thank you for the well wishing! D As it turns out, I got an A overall in my French exams, and didn't do too badly in everything else, so I'm tres happy about that, lol. But I hope this chapter continues to live up to the hype - you and the other reviewers have been giving me such lovely compliments. ) Hope you enjoy._

_Breon Briarwood - I apologise for any hurt caused, but things are getting better now, so hopefully that makes up a bit for it )_

_JennMel - Presenting the next chapter ;-) Sorry about the delay in updating, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. And thank you very much for the lovely compliment! D Hopefully the next chapter will come along soon._

_Kaewi - Phew! I'm glad. Thanks for the reassurance! ) Sorry about the delay in updating, btw. I really am terrible at that, aren't I, lol. I offer this chapter now as a peace offering... Don't ask how that works... --'_

_Larner - I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you. But thank you for the lovely encouragement. It's always great to get compliments from other authors. )_

_lexi - LOL! Glad to hear I'm not in danger of having you as a stalker, then. hehehehe. And thank you for the thought. ;-)_

_lovethosehobbits - you're making me bluch! I mean blush! blushes even more lol. This story has been a challenge to write, as I've never been in such a situation, so it's encouraging to hear that I've not been doing abysmally. D But at least Drogo's feeling MUCH happier now. _


	5. Chapter 5

_**Little One**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, Middle Earth, or anything relating._

**Chapter 5**

_6 October 1368_

The sun was dipping low into the horizon at the end of another day's journey, now ready to rest through the calm of night. Bilbo smiled from his position on the Hill as he gazed westward, admiring the rosy landscape. With a contented sigh, he returned his attentions back to the path, and getting home. He had enjoyed his stay at Brandy Hall, and had regretted having to leave it so soon after little Frodo's birth. But he could not deny that the sight of his own Bag End, with its peace and quiet, was a comfort. Whistling an experimental tune, he came to the front gate, finding Hamfast packing up his tools for the day. Exchanging a few words, Bilbo was both surprised and delighted to hear that Bell Gamgee was expecting again. Sending the gardener off home to his family, Bilbo found his mood even further improved as he entered the smial at last. What a wonderful end to a lovely trip!

It wasn't the only surprise he was to have that evening, though. He had just finished washing up after dinner when there came a firm rap on the door. He paused, his hand halfway to the dish towel. He knew that knock. He quickly dried off his hands, and with a private chuckle, made his way down the front hall.

"Gandalf, old friend! I thought it might be you. Only a wizard would dare to call so late."

"Bilbo Baggins," greeted Gandalf with a smile. He ducked through the door, embracing his friend, and was quickly bustled into the kitchen where Bilbo went about making some tea. "My apologies for the timing of my call. I meant to arrive for your birthday, but was rather delayed."

"That's just as well," commented Bilbo as he put some cakes, biscuits and an offering of pipeweed on the table. "You would have missed me entirely. I was celebrating in Buckland this year. Many of my preferred relations were there for the Harvest Festival."

"Preferred relations, hmm?" Gandalf had a good idea on whom Bilbo did _not_ mean.

"Yes," said Bilbo with a chuckle, guessing the wizard's thoughts. "I'm glad of it too. Would you guess it! but a cousin of mine gave birth to her first child while I was there. And on my actual birthday too!" His smile turned warm and his gaze distant as he fondly remembered.

* * *

It was some time before Bilbo was allowed in to visit the newly grown family. He had endured several long hours already of hearing exactly how endearing a child Drogo and Primula had been blessed with. By late afternoon, the old hobbit had to admit to a great impatience to see the lad and judge for himself. It was only as the sun was setting that he finally got his chance. A distantly related couple had (finally) just (at long last) left (about time!) when he at last entered the small room, warmly lit with a cheerful fire and a scattering of glowing lamps. Primula now sat up in her bed, eating a little dinner while Drogo held little Frodo, trying to lull him to sleep with a slow saunter. 

"Bilbo!" he exclaimed softly at his cousin's knock. "Do come in! We were wondering when you would visit us." Bilbo smiled as he entered, moving first to the bed to greet Primula before relaxing into a neighbouring chair.

"It seems that Brandybucks are more competitive than I remember," he said with a teasing smile. "Every time, just as I'm about to come and see you, in charges someone else before I've barely stood up from my seat. Your lad seems to have made quite an impression."

"And so he should!" said Drogo, half indignantly, half with teaming pride. "He's the finest lad in the Shire!" Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head in amusement at the stout display of fatherly pride. It was remarkable how infants could evoke such change in some.

"Look at that!" pouted Drogo to his wife. "He doesn't believe me!"

"I think Mr Baggins had best hold Frodo in his own arms if he is to understand what you mean, love," said Primula gently. "He won't be able to agree with you until he's seen our lad for himself."

Bilbo shifted almost uncomfortably in his chair, consciously straightening his weskit. He had not a great amount of experience with babies. Young lads and lasses he could deal with – a good story and a tasty treat and they were no trouble (unless they were Tooks; Tooks were unpredictable). But babies were an unfamiliar territory for him. He knew that the head had to be supported, and that they were never to be dropped. Beyond that, his knowledge ran alarmingly dry. Thus it could be understood that the old bachelor was more than a little nervous upon his first meeting with his newest cousin. But before he could think of any credible and inoffensive protests, Drogo carefully, and more than a little remorsefully, placed his son in Bilbo's arms.

* * *

Gandalf eyed Bilbo closely as the old hobbit become lost in his memories. The wizard had known this Baggins for twenty-eight years, and he was certain he had never before seen the hobbit in such a mood as he now expressed. He really seemed to be genuinely fond of this new cousin. Happy for his friend, that he should find such obvious (and perhaps even unlooked-for) delight in new life, Gandalf rested more comfortably in his seat, taking a long draw on his pipe. 

"It seems this new cousin hashad quite an effect on you," he said among the smoke rings.

"Yes," said Bilbo softly. "Yes, I do believe he has."

* * *

The first thought that occurred to Bilbo was of how pleasantly warm the little bundle was. The blankets were soft and wonderfully protecting against the cool autumn temperatures, and for a moment the old hobbit envied the young babe. This lad would never want for anything, that he was certain of. 

Well aware that the eyes of both parents were focused on him, he nudged the blankets a little to fully reveal the small face. The eyes were closed, and for a heartbeat Bilbo thought the baby must be asleep. But then there was movement; a slight shift of the arms, a curious yawning motion of the mouth, a series of lazy blinks, then peace.

It was at that point in time when something began to change. Bilbo was dimly aware of an upward tugging of his lips, and something deeper, warmer… He couldn't quite put his finger on it…

* * *

The wizard raised a bushy brow. Had he heard correctly? Bilbo Baggins had told many family horror stories over the years, and had given Gandalf the distinct impression that he had consequently remained a bachelor for a good reason. While he knew his friend did favour a handful of his adult cousins, the wizard had never known him to truly dote on any particular child, let alone an infant. This warranted further investigation. 

"Wonderful!" he said. "It might just do you some good to have more associations with the young, you know."

"Hmmm…" agreed Bilbo distantly. Gandalf frowned. What was this? No indignant denial? No witty backlash? He would try again. Something no hobbit could resist...

"Do I know the parents?"

"You may at that!" Bilbo glanced at him with a calculating eye, trying to recall past meetings. "He is the son of Drogo Baggins, and his wife Primula Brandybuck. She's the youngest of Old Gorbadoc's lot, you know, and he is Fosco's elder son, and my second cousin-"

Gandalf frowned again. Bilbo didn't notice. For a moment or two, the wizard sat in contemplation. He was certain he had heard those names before. _The son of Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck…_

_

* * *

_The lad was much smaller than Bilbo thought was normal for newborns, but despite this, the old hobbit was certain he had never seen a sweeter face. Still awake, little Frodo was becoming restless, shifting around in his cosy cocoon. Pure wonderment flooded through the old hobbit as he felt the tiny muscles moving, and he suddenly understood; he was gaining a new appreciation for the miracle of life. 

Something must have shown in his expression. Drogo and Primula exchanged a look. "So Bilbo," said the new father knowingly. "What do you think of our son?"

Pulled from the slight daze he had unwittingly fallen into, Bilbo again sat up a little straighter, altering his hold on the little bundle of life in his arms, cradling little Frodo closer to him. He considered the question carefully. He supposed he knew _what_ he thought, but as for how to articulate it… He could not recall ever having such an experience as this before. Though he felt almost ashamed to acknowledge it, feelings were awaking within him that had not stirred for a long time. Staring hard at the small face before him, he wondered just what to say.

But then the baby hobbit moved again. One tiny arm broke free from the blankets and waved about, exploring the sudden freedom it had gained. Both eyes squinted open, blinking a few times as they accustomed to the new light. They opened a little further, and looked straight up into Bilbo's face.

The hobbit felt his breath taken away. He had heard that all babies were born with blue eyes, and that when newly born they couldn't see properly. This, however, did not seem to be quite the case with Frodo. His eyes were blue, oh yes. Bilbo had never known such a perfect shade of summer sky. But there was something else in them. The hobbit knew it was silly to think such things, but he would always entertain the thought that this baby _saw_, and that he _knew_. There was a strange grain of deep thought and undeniable wisdom reflected in those cobalt eyes, and for the short moment that they were open wide, Bilbo captured that memory in his mind to lock away for a _very_ long time. Bilbo's first look at Frodo was a moment he knew he would treasure for many, many days to come.

Then the eyes flickered closed, though the small arm continued to wave about. Tiny fingers flexed open, and Bilbo smiled as he let them capture one of his own into a tiny fist. He glanced up at Drogo and Primula, who regarded him in return, proud smiles on their faces.

"Why," he said softly. "He's the best young hobbit in the Shire."

* * *

Gandalf felt uneasy. He could not figure out why. He did not like it when he could not figure out why. It tended to lead to... more _unpleasant_ answers, when they dawned. He had to get to the bottom of this. Hopefully he was worrying for nothing… 

"Tell me," he said. "Has this lad been named yet?"

"Yes," said Bilbo with a chuckle. "I believe it was made up right on the spot. They hadn't decided on a lad's name before the birth, only a lass's."

"And what did they end up deciding?" The wizard gripped the arms of his chair. He didn't know what to expect. All he knew was a sense of irrational urgency that would not leave him be.

"Frodo," said Bilbo with a happy sigh, still completely oblivious. "That's what they settled on. Frodo."

"Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo," murmured Gandalf, his mind racing. _He knew this name_…

"Yes," said Bilbo, leaning forward to pour more tea into his cup and his guest's. "It has a nice ring to it, don't you agree?" He settled back and drank deeply, completely ignorant of his friend's failure to properly respond.

For Olórin had a glimpse of what had once passed, and what could yet come; what he had been sent to do. _Frodo_! That name seemed to carry with it all the weight of the world. There was a sudden rush of white light, and a hot glow of stars. Voices hummed in a council from the most ancient halls of existence. Instructions whispered in his mind; a call for guidance. He looked up, and was blessed with a vision of the fairest of the Divine, the reverred Queen. She looked his way and nodded to him, and he acknowledged this answer. For one instant he felt relief.

Too late did he notice the glimmer of solemn sorrow on her countenance. The Lady of the Stars suffered compassion for a mortal.

The Maia felt himself being weighed down by a sensation of paramount fear. He fell from that most sacred place, into a vortex of time and space that opened up and roared beneath him, through him, sucking him in and ripping him into a moment that abandoned him before he could grasp or challenge it. Instead, he was left in a core where lurked dust and fumes and a deadly oppression; a pit of shadow and torment in which there prowled a sinister presence. It took a cruel pride in observing his state of helpless ignorance. He turned from it, wanting to flee the snide familiarity, when he was assaulted by the foul stench of brimstone, and a cold, brutal laugh. He choked as he gasped for breath, and when it came, he looked up to find his vision ensnared by that of a flaming Eye. Mithrandir knew this source of peril awaiting, though he would not dare to name it prematurely, lest disaster befall on them all. But there was something more that was required, this time. A piece of the puzzle that had lain long forgotten. Mithrandir would wait. For now.

It was finally, in that instant of comprehension, that Gandalf the Grey returned to Bag End. The wizard looked across at Bilbo, hoping he had not noticed anything unusual, when his skilled eye caught on a tiny round lump in the hobbit's pocket. Suspicion flared from deep within, and Gandalf raised his gaze to Bilbo's face, only to find that this hobbit was no longer Bilbo.

Instead, the wizard was staring into a youthful and decidedly determined face, with wise and curious eyes of brightest blue. It was a fair face; a noble face, and he realised it would see much in its day – far too much. That eminent wisdom was born from more than a clear mind. There was a definite knowledge of deep sorrow. Gandalf knew this with the same conviction in which he knew that this was a face he would come to treasure most dearly.

But then time passed on, and the vision before him dissolved back into Bilbo Baggins. The hobbit had finished his tea, and was choosing a biscuit to fill up the corners. Gandalf took a long draw on his pipe, taking the moment to recover himself. He had learned much this evening.

"Frodo Baggins, eh?" he said at last, responding to Bilbo's previous comment. "It sounds like a very fine name. Yes, a very fine name for one whom I am sure will become a very fine lad."

"Oh yes," agreed Bilbo with a smile. "The best hobbit in the Shire."

Gandalf nodded with a smile, keeping his final thoughts on the matter to himself.

_The best hobbit in the history of Middle Earth._

The End.


End file.
